Determinants of Demand
by THAFuzz
Summary: She was just another damn employer...a smoothskin. That's what he told himself. But what was it about her that really made this bodyguard's blood boil? F.LW/Charon M for a reason. You no liek teh ghouls, then why you here?
1. Results of Dishonesty

**Determinants of Demand**

**Ch**. 1 - Results of Dishonesty

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><p>His first impression of her wasn't the typical one, like with most of the beings that appeared in the doorway of the Ninth Circle, half already piss-drunk, predominantly of the ghoul variety. Many were so far gone that Azrukhal, not desiring the headache, ordered them to turn right around and only return when they were sober. Like the rat-bastard even cared <em>that<em> much.

The ghoul bodyguard withdrew into the shadows of his corner, arms crossed, ignoring the catcalls from a pair of drunken ghoulettes, and instead allowed himself to seethe with disgust and anger at the sight of his scummy employer charming his way into another ghoulette bed for the night. As he worked to ignore the twinkle in Azrukhal's filmy eyes, the door to the Ninth Circle opened. Charon didn't bother looking, but he narrowed his blue eyes on Azrukhal, who had glanced over at the newcomer and stopped short on his welcoming speech. The bodyguard tightened his crossed arms. His employer put on his most disgustingly "charming" smile and opened his arms wide.

"Welcome, my dear, to the Ninth Circle. Feel free to enjoy your stay, just try not to kill anyone while you're here."

The last comment drew Charon's attention, and he finally placed his eyes on the newcomer. He had to avert his eyes quickly, however, as his heart momentarily sputtered. When it had settled into its normal rhythm, he glanced over her again.

She was rather petite, _tiny_ compared to him, but petite for a smoothskin. His eyes raked over her form as she seated herself lightly at the bar. She had curves; they were the only things he could see. The torn leather armor that she wore didn't help much, as the leather clung nicely to her supple waist and generous chest, and where there were tears, he got a nice view of white skin. His eyes rested on her chest as it moved with the motion of her breathing. When he finally managed to tear his gaze away, he busied himself by studying the back of her head. She thick, dark auburn hair, more red than brown, that was cut into a short, punkish, unladylike style. It fit well with the way she moved. She was graceful, he could easily see, but with that came a hidden strength; mostly, she emanated a calm stubbornness. The heavy rifle strapped to her back reassured him that she was no pushover.

Azrukhal had just handed her a bottle of water, deliberately brushing his fingers against hers. Had Charon been paying attention, he would've burning a hole in the floor with sick rage. But no, instead, he kept his icy blue eyes trained on the back of her head, watching the movement as she tilted it back to sip the water, which she quickly discovered was irradiated, though she'd specifically asked for purified.

Charon was uncharacteristically caught off guard as the girl lunged from the barstool and onto the bar, sending glass of many forms smashing down to the floor; she latched onto Azrukhal's collar with the left hand and pulled her right hand back into a fist. Instantly, Charon was behind her, gripping her suspended forearm with one scarred hand, rendering it useless. Gently, but firmly, he lifted her nearly nonexistent weight from the bar to the floor, where he continued to hold her. The girl struggled for a moment, caught between the two ghouls, before she murmured softly, dangerously, "That's not what I paid for. I don't like being cheated, or lied to."

For a moment, Charon sympathized. In her position, he probably would've done the same thing. Upon finishing this thought, he pondered another. He realized he hadn't even seen this girl's face yet.

The girl had realized something as well; neither of the ghouls were moving, and so she took a chance. She released the ghoul's collar, twisted around awkwardly in the larger one's grip, and attempted to jab said larger one in an important place. But, damn, was he fast for his size! His other hand captured hers, and now she faced him, arms pinned on either side of the counter. The sleazier of the two chuckled grossly.

Charon held her arms in iron grips, staring into her eyes hard, his breathing shallow. The first thing he'd done as she tried to strike him was burn her face into memory. It puzzled him. Most women faced the sun or the cold every day, and the mixture of harsh elements made their skin rough and leathery. Her face, though...her face was as smooth as could be, as though she'd never seen the sun in her life. There were dark brown freckles scattered across the white of her skin, mostly near her eyes and nose. He had taken his time in examining this face, with its smooth contours, the barely-noticeably crooked little nose, the full lips. But, when his eyes had reached hers, he almost lost his stoicism, for a moment.

Her eyes were the color of steel, and they bored boldly, intensely, into his; her thick eyebrows had knitted in a glare that set his skin on fire. For only a moment, an image of her panting beneath him, fixing him with that same angry glare, washed through his mind. He mentally smacked himself.

Azrukhal's wheezing voice chimed into his thoughts. "Good work, Charon. Now, just turn her around and hold her still." Charon complied, albeit a bit hesitantly, but not before her eyes could strip him down and peer into his soul.

The smarmy owner cuffed the girl in the face, a blow that glanced off the side of her jaw.

"I believe that you owe me for the damages you've done here."

The girl glanced about, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her skull, her eyes falling on the broken glasses and bottles littering the floor. "How much?" she asked warily, her voice clipped.

"Oh, I think about five-hundred will do," Azrukhal replied with an even more disgusting smirk than before; the smirk of a winning man. Instantly, Charon was on edge; he knew that his employer was leading the girl into a trap.

He knew that he was right when she stiffened in his arms.

"Five...hundred?"

"Yeeeeees."

"Oh, well..." she trembled slightly as she battled for the right words. "I don't have that much...only about 60."

His smirk broadened as he shut the cage door to her trap. "Well then, I guess you'll just have to work your debt off, then."

Charon growled quietly at his employer's prospect of "working." It was quiet, but it didn't stop the girl from feeling it vibrate through his chest at her back.

She turned her head, capturing him in grey steel once again. Her eyes were pleading, shameless in their silent begging. However, Charon was bound by contract. As such, all he could do was narrow his eyes pitilessly and shake his head.

The girl's gaze became a heated frown once again, and she turned to face the winning ghoul.

"I'll enjoy that glare when I see you tonight, girl," he said gleefully, making Charon inwardly cringe at the idea of Azrukhal taking HIS place in HIS fantasy. The ghoul continued, indicating to the bodyguard: "Charon here is an exceptional tracker, so don't try to run. He is ready and able to kill you, so don't try to harm me. He is bound to me by contract, and so he must do as he's told. Don't make this any more difficult than it must be." The girl nodded, already planning her escape in her head. It would undoubtedly have to involve the immense figure that held her in a grip no longer steely but gentle.


	2. The Stealing

**Determinants of Demand**

**Ch**. 2 – The Stealing

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><p>Oh, but she was screwed. Somewhat literally. The greasy bartender's idea of work was not something that interested her in the least, and she'd be damned if she let him be her first. Charon or not, it wasn't happening. So when the patrons had all retired to the other parts of Underworld, and Azrukhal was busy with a visit to Carol's, she resolved to find and take the contract that he'd spoken so boastfully of. The problem would be getting past Charon in order to sniff around the safe behind the bar.<p>

Luckily, she had a Stealthboy that she'd discovered on some poor corpse out in the Wasteland.

She activated it, and the shimmering cloak covered her quickly and quietly. She peeked around the wall and saw that Charon was dozing in his corner, powerful arms still crossed over his broad chest. Silently, the girl worked her way over to and behind the counter, picked the lock of the safe with relative ease, and very nearly shrieked with joy when she found the contract, a torn, yellowed piece of paper, rolled up and tucked away behind a camera and a pile of caps. She took everything.

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><p><strong>Very short, I know, but it's leading up to chapter 3, which is MUCH longer. Reviews, please!<strong>


	3. Results of Thievery

**Determinants of Demand**

**Ch**. 3 – Results of Thievery

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><p>Azrukhal toyed with the front leather of her armor, his fingers curling in it and pulling her closer. She shuddered, unable to stop from grabbing his wrist, panic written clearly in her eyes. Her free hand reached for her pocket, where the paper was tucked safely away, but just as she had slipped her fingers inside, Charon was behind her, latching onto her forearm once more. She meant to glare up at him menacingly, but Azrukhal had something different in mind. He yanked her closer, twisted around, and shoved her toward an unmade bed in the corner, partially hidden by a fold-out screen. She lost her balance, stumbled, and crashed onto the bed, her legs hanging over at the knees. The slimy ghoul was between those knees in seconds.<p>

She fought to push him away with one hand while she went for the paper in her pocket with the other. He grabbed that arm at the wrist, twisting forcefully. "I don't know what you keep going for, but..." His voice trailed off, breath hitching, as his spidery fingers worked their way under the leather at her neck. Her skin felt like satin beneath his fingertips. The contact only made her more insistent as she struggled, hell-bent on reaching the scrap of yellow paper.

Charon had long since turned away, unable to bear the sight of the two of them, him relentless, her frightened and unwilling. It was much harder to ignore her voice. Her quiet, desperate pleas pricked at his ears, the breathless sounds causing his control to waver. Before he knew it, blood was surging downward, and he gritted his teeth even as a bulge became evident in his pants. In that moment, he absolutely couldn't ignore the sound of flesh striking flesh, and he turned, light-headed. Azrukhal had hit her again. The first time had infuriated Charon, and this was no different.

For the second time that night, he was caught off guard when the girl, in a rush of red rage, raised her fist to punch him back. The ghoul bodyguard was at their side just as her fist smashed into the smirking face of his employer, her other hand successfully in her pocket. Charon made a grab for her, but froze when she lifted the yellow paper between them. Her eyes met his. The grey pleaded with his shocked blue.

Azrukhal was the first to recover. "Charon!" he snapped. "Take it from her!"

The ghoul bodyguard had his eyes locked intensely on the paper, his chest still as he held his breath. The girl backed away, the paper still raised in the air as though a shield.

When she spoke, her voice wavered slightly. "You know what this is...and you know what it means."

Charon certainly did, because he let a slow, crooked smirk spread over his face as he fingered the worn shotgun on his back. His cold blue gaze turned on Azrukhal. The sleazy ghoul gulped, crying out, "Now hold on one minute!"

"I'm no longer under your employ, you ugly bastard."

The unfortunate bartender froze where he was, hands clenching and unclenching at the stained material of his suit. The girl slid off the bed and halfway behind Charon, clenching the paper in her hands, her calculating grey stare cutting into him. Azrukhal's tortured eyes landed on her, and he lunged madly. "You bitch! GIVE IT BACK!"

Charon stepped in the way, and Azrukhal crumpled against his massive, solid form. The former bodyguard hauled him up by the lapel of his suit jacket and withdrew the shotgun from his back. Azrukhal squirmed violently, swearing and threatening the two individuals in front of him. "Charon, damn you, let me go this instant! You stupid fuck, I said let go!" Charon chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling through his chest. Azrukhal sputtered, struggling, panicking, and sobbing. "You can't do this," he choked out. "You can't do this!"

Charon's hand twisted tighter in the lapel as he raised the shotgun to press the cold steel against the front of his forehead.

There were no final words from Charon, no cliché puns, no witty remarks. He merely pulled the trigger, and Azrukhal's head exploded in a mass of red and grey pulp. Most of the gore splattered onto the wall, but some of it made its way to Charon, coating him in the bloody mess. He replaced the shotgun on his back, tore most of the coat off, and released the now-headless body. Before he turned to his new employer, he carefully wiped his face clean.

The girl was standing stock-still, rigid, her grey eyes unable to leave the form of Azrukhal. Her hand had crumpled the contract.

Charon turned to her and immediately noticed a small spatter of blood on her cheek. He raised his hand to her face, running the calloused thumb over it, smearing a little bit, but removing most of it.

"You are now my employer. I will follow you to the ends of the Earth if I must, and I am sworn to your bidding."

The girl looked up at him, her freckles standing out in stark contrast to her paled skin. He had been right in his first sighting of her. She was definitely small. If she were to wrap her arms around him, (which he knew would get him immediately into trouble) her head would probably fall just short of level with his shoulders. There was something endearing about her smallness, something that made him go light-headed all over again. The animalistic side of him loved the idea of his new employer; she was small, delicate, stubborn, and vulnerable. The advantage he would have was strength. If he wanted, he could take her right now, without resistance, and his lips curled up slightly at the thought.

But then rationality took over, and he mentally smacked himself for the second time. Where had all his morals gone? He scoffed. It was probably the years of being chained to Azrukhal that'd turned him into such a sadistic monster.

Instead of thinking any further about his new master's utter vulnerability, or about his old master's ass-ish ways, he focused on the matter at hand.

"What is your name?"

The girl blinked. Her eyes, wide as a frightened doe's, returned to their normal size, bits of her bold personality slowly returning. She raised her chin slightly.

"Rose." She said it with such defiance, as though to challenge him.

He definitely questioned the name. As fitting as it was for her in her vulnerability, Charon could see the intense side of her in her eyes, like before when she had glared at him. In this way, she seemed to almost have a split personality. But then, perhaps he just hadn't seen the whole thing at once. The unfortunate wording of his thought made his fingertips tingle with the urge to grab her and press her against a wall and bite her white flesh to stain it red.

He rubbed at his eyes with one hand. She might just end up being the most difficult employer he would ever have.

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><p><strong>Oh dear, I've made Charon a bit deviant, I think...<strong>

**Reviews? Please...**


	4. It's a Sin

**Determinants of Demand**

**Ch**. 4 – It's a Sin

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><p><strong>First off, I'd like to thank ZoeKJ-Tazmina, Deenami, Ninekat, and silverdragon0315 for their reviews! Each one is important. :D<strong>

**With that out of the way, here's chapter 4! Enjoy!**

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><p>He grew increasingly agitated with each passing day. Everything she did, EVERYTHING, made his blood heat up and his heart pump faster. When he glanced over, there she was, bending over. When he awoke, there she was, thin tank-top and tiny shorts, repairing her equipment. He was growing damned tired of battling with himself.<p>

After he'd followed the woman out of Underworld, she had done her best to get rid of him. "You don't have to follow me you know," she would say. He always replied with a grunt. "I don't own you. You can go wherever you want." Again, only a grunt. Her last attempt amused him slightly. She'd "accidentally" fallen over the side of a bridge and into an irradiated river. By the time he'd leapt down after her and dragged himself to shore, she was of the water and hauling ass, dodging and weaving through large boulders in some sort of terrible attempt to lose him. It hadn't taken long for his greater stamina, and much more lengthy strides, to help him catch up. By the time he reappeared behind her, she was exhausted, sweat dribbling down each limb of her body.

He'd chuckled, the vibrations rumbling through his chest as he growled, "I'm under contract. You won't lose me that easily."

She was trying his patience, though not intentionally. If she didn't realize what she did to him, then she really was naïve. Now, as they sat before the campfire, on opposite sides, she stared him down. He welcomed the challenge, his blue eyes cutting back through the orange flames dancing between them, and she turned her gaze to her hands. The little sawed-off that she was meticulously cleaning with a dirty bandana caught the light of the fire, a slight distraction. At that distance, and in what little light was given, it was safe for his eyes to wander a bit as she worked. So, he took the opportunity to study her.

Her face was still unbelievably white, even after being in the sun for the past week. At the moment, though, it was colored orange from the fire, setting her eyes in a darker gloom so that the grey pierced through to him. Unabashed, his eyes wandered further, over her shoulders and down to the swell of her chest, protected only by the thin vault suit. Unlike the extra she carried around, this suit was heavily armored.

He prepared to shut himself down again as thoughts wandered into his head. Thoughts of tearing straight through the flimsy blue material to get to her, of taking the shotgun from her because it was her only protection.

He couldn't dwell on the thought very long, as he heard a fumbled clicking sound, and he looked back up at her face. Her eyes weren't focused on him; rather, they were steadfast on the weapon as she tried to take it apart to clean the inside. He stared, unbelieving. She usually seemed so sure of her weapon, but she apparently didn't know shit about taking it apart. He watched her fumble with it for a few more agonizing moments before he cleared his throat and stood up. Her eyes flashed orange as she glanced back at him, and they followed his movement as he circled the campfire and dropped down heavily next to her.

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><p>Rose attempted to protest as the ghoul reached down and plucked the sawed-off from her grasp, but the look on his face made her stop. He was, as always, completely serious, but she could see the curling of his lips. He was amused. She glared at him, but he wasn't looking at her. With swift and steady hands, he dismantled the shotun in a matter of seconds. She gaped at the shotgun, at his hands, at him.<p>

He glanced down to her, nearly letting a smug smirk cross his face.

"How did you do it so quickly?"

The innocent question caught him off guard. It was the first time she'd spoken to him since her last escape attempt. He took the bandana from her and set to work wiping grime from the parts as he contemplated the question, all the while aware of the faint, moist warmth of her breath against his shoulder as she watched. "It's easy," he murmured. "Once you learn, you practice and gain experience. Nothing more."

The parts were clean-well, as clean as they would get using a dirty bandana-so he reassembled the weapon just as easily as he'd taken it apart.

Before he had a chance to hand it to her, though, small hands moved into his line of vision and gently took it. He watched as the small woman lifted it to her face, turned it over in her hands, played her fingers over the grooves.

Her eyes met his. "Can you teach me?"

Again, just an innocent question, as though she was talking to another human rather than a hideous ghoul. The way her eyes didn't show disgust, fear, or even pity, but rather simple curiosity...

He sighed deeply, wanting nothing more than to get away from her, before he answered. "Pay attention."

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><p>When Charon awoke, his head was splitting with a vicious headache. That was the first thing he noticed. The second thing he noticed was his employer. The sight of her made his heart skip a beat anxiously. She was curled on her side against him, her head cradled on his stomach; in one hand, she held the bandana, and in the other, she held the completely intact shotgun.<p>

In all his years as a ghoul, not once had a smoothskin dared to touch him. Most would've been unlikely to even allow him near them, and yet this little woman was actually _touching_ him as though he wasn't a hideous monster. She was _sleeping _next to him with a calm, relaxed expression on her face.

The night before came back to him slowly. He had only demonstrated it once more before she took the gun and tried it herself. It had taken two close failures for her to do it perfectly. It had taken 5 minutes for her to get faster, and it wasn't long before she could do it almost without looking. He had to give it to the smoothskin: she was quite observant, and a fast learner. There was something in the simple joy she got from her new ability that had nearly made him smile. But the near-smile was erased as quickly as possible and replaced with a frown; he ran a hand over his scalp in irritation.

"Damn smoothskin."

He immediately regretted saying it out loud, because she stirred, eyebrows knitting slightly and tempo of breathing changing. He would've liked to get up, to get away from her, but he didn't want to wake her up. So, he continued to lie on his back, staring at her face as it relaxed once more. As he raked his eyes over the thick eyebrows, childish freckles, and slightly chapped lips, he came to a sudden realization: he wanted to hate her, but he couldn't. He wanted so desperately to hate her the way he hated Azrukhal, to have a reason to blow her away if the contract was ever voided, but he found it real damn hard to hate someone that treated him as at least SOMETHING of an equal. DAMN, but he wanted to hate and hate, and it made him angry that she hadn't given him reason to hate.

He suddenly realized that the growling he heard was coming from him, reverberating through his torso. Once again, his employer stirred. This time, those grey eyes fluttered open beneath the thick black lashes, and she immediately sat up to observe the area around the campsite. She still hadn't looked at him, so he shut his eyes and feigned sleep. She continued to move around, but carefully, as though she was aware of him and didn't want to bother his sleep. He could feel it when the girl turned and looked down at him, and inwardly he raged at the thought of what bigotry was probably running through her mind. 'DAMN, I wish I could hit her and get it over with.' Violence voided the contract, after all, and he began to contemplate ways that he could loophole through this stipulation to get her to hit him first, not only breaking the bond of the contract but giving him plenty of reason to beat the shit out of her.

It took every ounce of willpower he had not to jump when he felt her hand on his chest. "Charon…?" The quiet whisper amused him, and deciding that he wasn't quite ready to 'wake up' yet, he kept his eyes closed and his breathing steady. His employer made a small annoyed sound, but merely raised her voice a notch and called his name again. This was kind of…dare he say it, _fun_. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to control his facial muscles this well to keep a smirk off of his face.

Then, with both hands, she shook him as hard as she could.

"CHARON!"

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><p>Rose knew she was in trouble when Charon's hand lashed out, grabbing for the first thing he could get a hold of, which just so happened to be her upper arm. She remained frozen, eyes wide with fear as he pulled her close. His face was mere inches from her own, and she couldn't help but gulp when she saw the rage flaring in his eyes.<p>

"_Never. Do. That. Again._"

She nodded once, slowly, and he shoved her away and stood up.

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><p><strong>YEAH, left you hanging like a jackass! Lol, no, but I hope you like the story so far!<strong>

**Please review!**


	5. Metro Kills the Thrills

**Determinants of Demand**

**Ch**. 5 – Metro Kills the Thrills

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><p>"Where the hell are we even going?"<p>

Despite his previous experiences with employers, Charon easily found the freedom to be a smart-ass and share his opinion whenever he felt like it, and it was more than liberating. His newest employer didn't much care for his crude questions and commentary, but hell if it wasn't refreshing to share.

Speaking of which, the girl threw one of those spine-tingling glares over her shoulder in the darkness before answering, "How many times do I have to say it? We aren't actually GOING ANYWHERE." She whipped her head back around, raising her rifle up slightly. He had heard the sound as well, and he cocked his shotgun, rolling his shoulders in anticipation. A shot rang out, surprising him, and he glared at the girl in front of him, who lowered the rifle back to her side. He could hear her snicker. "My kill." Charon growled angrily at the challenge and adjusted the pack on his back in irritation.

"Like I was saying, we aren't going anywhere specific. Just scavenging."

Charon snorted, refusing to respond.

As they walked on, he saw the corpse of a feral ghoul laying off to the side of the metro tracks. The damn girl had put a bullet right through its head even in the darkness of the metro. He had to hand it to her, albeit a bit begrudgingly: she was a good shot. Of course, that didn't make up for the fact that she sucked at everything else. She may as well have been a dying yao guai for all the success she had in staying hidden sometimes; when it came to disarming traps, Charon had had to risk his own skin way too many times just to fix what she screwed up. That doesn't mean he didn't love it every time she messed up and ran away from a beeping landmine before it went off.

Travelling with her was obviously going to require his constant vigilance.

Which is what helped him spot the ammo box partially hidden underneath a stone bench.

"Mistress, I found something," he piped up, annoyed at himself for his own polite tone. She stopped and her ears noticeably pricked up, to his disgust, and she spun around. "Where?" He crossed his arms, nodding toward the bench. She hurried past him and, working with a bobby pin and screwdriver, she picked the lock. That was another thing, besides shooting, that she had a knack for. He was lost in thought, waiting patiently, when she bounded over to him. Charon looked down at her, only slightly amused at the content expression on her face, then looked down at his hands. His employer had shoved a box of shotgun shells into them with a smile. "There ya go."

His eyes followed her backside as she resumed walking. Then he smirked and picked up the trail as well, tucking the box into his pack. His employer, _Rose_, was definitely meant for the scavenging life. Any other time, they were either at each others' throats or mildly in agreement. But when it came to finding what she called treasure… Charon's skin prickled. 'I don't give a damn about her, so why do I even bother to pick apart her quirks? The less I know about her, the easier it'll be to kick her ass when the contract is voided.'

He chuckled quietly, thinking back to the epiphany he'd had two weeks before. It was difficult, but he was still brainstorming ways that he could get her to hit him first. Who knows, maybe he could even have a little fun with her once it was voided. MAN, that'd be great. Watching the back of her head with growing animosity, he smirked at his own filthy mind. 'Boy, am I sick…' He'd given up getting on to himself for his more perverted thoughts, writing them off as a product of loneliness and pent-up anger.

The girl stopped dead in her tracks, forcing him to do the same just to keep from running into her. "Hey-" The girl turned to him, and he could tell she'd been deep in thought the whole time by the way that the space between her eyebrows was still smoothing out. "Did you call me mistress earlier?"

He frowned. "Yes, I did." The girl's expression changed; hell, now she looked guilty. "You don't have to call me that. Can't you call me by my name?"

"What's your name?" he asked mockingly.

Her eyes flared with rage, and she crossed her arms over her chest angrily, causing Charon's gaze to float downward for just a moment. "You KNOW my name, I've told you five times already since we met! Do you just like picking on me?"

He chuckled gravely. "Maybe so."

"Yeah, well, it's ROSE. ROSE. You got it now? ROSE. Say it with me."

She prepared to repeat her name once more, but Charon clapped his rough hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. "I got it," he growled.

The girl blinked in surprise, then smacked his hand away lightly. "Don't do that!" she shouted, her voice echoing down the metro tunnel. Angrily, he covered her mouth again, grabbing her upper arm with his other hand. "Fuckin' moron, you want any more enemies to come along? I can assure you, there are plenty down here that would just love to tear you to pieces!" She shook with rage, her steely eyes cutting into his. Then he realized how hard he was holding her arm. He dropped his hands to his sides, suddenly a slave again, mentally preparing for yelling and screaming and some kind of order to kill himself or something.

Thankfully, she still had that armored vault suit, so he couldn't see what kind of damage he had done.

Shocked, she rubbed at her arm in an attempt to ease the soreness.

"You could have just told me to be quiet," she murmured, her voice betraying the hurt that she was expertly keeping from her face.

He barely registered her voice; Charon's mind was on pieces of his past that floated into his vision: memories of Azrukhal, of the first time he ordered him to kill an innocent ghoul, of the first time he tossed a full glass of whiskey in his face "accidentally", the time when he'd sold him to a ghoulette for a night.

"Charon." Her voice pulled him out of his reverie, and he hesitantly looked at her. The look on her face was too much; he didn't want that FUCKING PITY.

"Sorry." He growled out the apology, venom laced in the word, and pushed past her.

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><p><strong>Ugh, cliffhangers make me hot.<strong>

**Ahem...here's chapter 5, kiddies! REVIEW IT. NOW.**

**You know you want to! Haha, don't you like short chapter updates?**


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